


Bleak

by livinginadaydream (orphan_account)



Category: Disney RPF, Jonas Brothers
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-26
Updated: 2010-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/livinginadaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gradual build-up, a wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleak

A well-adjusted gentleman, business savvy, complete with a sense of humor that at least forty-five percent of the population understood at any given moment, and no one would think - Would think that... No one would ever understand that Kevin, who always smiled and took the calm, cool, and collected route, always went to his bunk and played his guitar not because music was his life, not because he wanted to feel it drown out all unnecessary thoughts to making his life stable and proper, but to block the sounds of his soft, uncontrollable, sporadic sobs.

He was happy with his life, he had thought. How could he not be? His entire family was amazing - out there, and sometimes he didn't want to think about them too much, just because it was... uncomfortable. The fans who cheered for them at every turn made the early mornings and late nights worth it. He _had_ been happy, he thought, as he leaned back against his pillow, crushing it against the wall, suffocating it.

Perfection wasn't anything he had ever thought he would have. He was a logical kind of guy, who took time to mull things over. Processing was very important to him. So it wasn't as though he didn't plan for the pit falls, the hard times. Really, he knew they would come, and he would get upset just like anyone else would. But he could always fix it. Sometimes it took him a week or so to get fully back on track, but he always did it.

This was different though. Using his guitar as a wall, an instrument of a different sort, had been going on for months now, and he felt like it would never end. The problem was that he couldn't figure out _what_ was wrong, just that... _Everything_ was wrong. It had developed gradually, he guessed, when he looked back on it, trying to figure out what it was he needed to mend. He'd just woken up one day not feeling as pumped as he usually did. And then eventually he stopped caring whether he was energized for the day or not. That wasn't a constant truth anymore. Part of the reason he was upset half of the time was because he didn't like that he was upset the other half of the time.

Confused, and tired, he didn't know what else to do but break down, but he chose to do it in a way that no one else would notice, behind a curtain, in the dark, playing his guitar just loudly enough, and biting down on his lip if he felt like he was going to let out too much emotion. Every day, it seemed, he put up a new brick, fresh mortar. Finally, he thought, sitting in his bunk alone, light unable to break through, he saw the bleak ground that he was standing on, a wall as long and big as the Great Wall of China, cutting him off from everything. Literally everything. On his side, there was nothing but dirt, and the sun didn't shine so bright, and he thought sometimes, that it might be nice to have a jacket, but there was no one to ask for one, nobody to borrow one from. He was totally and completely alone, and he had made that call himself, when he began retreating.

Being alone, being without anything but a wall, wasn't what bothered Kevin. It was that when he kicked the wall, it didn't move, wouldn't crumble, no matter how many times he ran into it, crushed his fist into the stone until his hands were bleeding, because all those times that he used fresh mortar to secure his wall, he really had fortified it. No one could get in. No one could get out. And it was just so tall now... Not even a rope could be thrown over from the other side. He'd built it himself. So efficient, always logical, so intelligent. He'd made something unbreakable. He had thought that was a good thing. Before.


End file.
